“What is it that you want?!” The Writer screams out, terror creeping into his heart and accelerating his pulse with adrenaline, incontrollable fear, just as his trembling hand that points a gun at the head of the creature standing before him. “You’ve taken everything from me! I have nothing else for you!”

The creature, the man, standing so dignified and straight as his hunchback would allow him, stares back at him with an expression he would never be able to describe. The Janitor smirks at the horrified face of his victim, piercing into his eyes over the steel cannon of the firearm. “Well, you see…”

The Janitor takes one step forward, causing the Writer to let out a shrilling, pathethic shriek. Another step, and the Writer hits his back against the wall, his index finger pressing stubbornly on the trigger. The wrinkles on his forehead, the thick, smiling lips, smearing down threads of saliva that drip down his chin, those dark eyes… everything shines with dreadful clarity under the full moon light, and for the immense rage of the Writer, he cannot deny his devastating beauty.

“You see, my dear…” He takes another step, until his forehead is touching the cold cannon that has now stopped trembling. “I want everything.” He says, and his smirks stretches into a wide smile across his wart ridden face. “Everything from you.”

Tears already started running down the poor Writer's face, who can do nothing but lower the gun, and stand there, defeated, before this madman.